Apostate's Templar
by Andauril
Summary: While working at his clinic, Anders mends a remarkable woman . Some time later, they meet again - with her wearing a Templar armor...
1. Chapter 1

He was just healing a cut in a boy's leg when the woman entered his clinic.

She limped badly, her trousers were cut open as was her right leg, and she was barely standing on her feet. Her face was pale like ashes as she stumbled to one of the cots standing around, sitting down.

Anders hurried to close the boy's wound, hastened to look after her.

Her trousers were drenched in blood, and blood was also covering her hands, her side and her arms. She staggered, inhaling deeply and hastily, her eyes were filled with pain. Her leg's sore was deep, the flesh cut open from the upper leg to her gaiter.

"I know I shouldn't ask you… I'm certainly not the kind of patient you treat usually, but please help me." Her voice sounded weak and raspy from her pain.

Taking a second look, he had to agree. Under all that blood she wore clothes of good quality and looked well-fed. His patients were usually the poor refugees and miners who lived in Darktown, and sometimes he also treated his friends' wounds as well, but this woman clearly was neither from Darktown nor one his friends.

She was a complete stranger.

But she certainly was losing a lot of her blood, and she looked as pale as death. It was almost certain that she would die sooner or later if he did nothing to help her. And he was a healer, after all, and his clinic was open to everyone who needed help.

He wouldn't let her die.

"Lie down", he ordered, "I have to inquire your wounds before I can start healing them."

"I hope you'll hurry", she murmured with a weak voice and did as he commanded.

Anders tore the cloth of her trousers, taking a closer look while he carefully pulled open the sore's edges. The wounded flesh was dirty, like she had stumbled and fell down to her knees while she was trying to reach the clinic. He would have to cleanse the wound before he could even think of healing it.

"How bad is it?"

"Well, it's deep and I can say for sure that it will start to fester if I'll do nothing", he answered.

"Good thing I'm here then", she answered while grimacing in pain. Her voice still sounded weak and hoarse.

He turned his back to her, searching for some wine to disinfect her wound. Once he had found some, he filled a kettle with it until the bottle was empty and summoned fire to heat it. He took care that she didn't see what he was doing exactly. She looked like a citizen of at least some note and he didn't wish for more Templars in Darktown, searching the refugee camps, knocking at his door.

He returned to the woman. In the meantime, she had become paler, her skin looked almost transparent. Her eyes were flickering around, her pupils widened, while her breath sounded strained.

He put his cattle next to her, picking up a piece of a rope which he was giving to her.

"You will need to bite on that then I'm beginning to cleanse your wound", he explained. "It will hurt, I promise you."

"I'm not as delicate. I can bear up against some pain."

Anders sighed. He had heard that much too often, and it had ended always the same way – with the brave and hardboiled patient screaming in pain for their mothers, fathers or the Maker.

"I'd heard that before. Don't argue with me, just take it."

The woman made a face, but she took the rope piece, clenching it between her teeth.

Anders grabbed hold on the cattle, spilling the hot wine all over the sore. The woman howled in pain, or at least she tried to, biting on the rope piece instead, her face contorted with throes. She rebelled. After he had spilled out all the burning hot wine, she spit out the rope, gasping for breath.

"Maker, do you want to kill me?" she panted.

"You're welcome" he answered softly. "Don't worry, the worst is over."

"I hope you're not kidding, healer" she gasped, her voice still drenched with pain.

"I'm not. The last part – well, second last – won't hurt you. I never heard any complaints from my patients, and they are usually not the most polite kind of people."

She grimaced. "More healing, less talking. Stitch up this damn wound, I'm waiting."

This was certainly a way to disguise his magical abilities. She was not from Darktown, how could he trust her to keep his secret and not tell the Templars of him? Of course he would use his magic on her wound, but in a careful way. He knew how to stimulate her self-regulating forces with magic and how could keep her sores from an infection.

He took a pin, threading a needle and started to put stitches in the wound. With every stitch he made, he was guiding a little magic at the sore, to mend it heal itself. The woman had closed her eyes, screwing up her face, but she didn't complain; she only clenched her teeth together.

It took a while after he had finally stitched up her wound. Whoever had injured her and cut off her leg, he had done it properly as the sore was long and deep.

Finally, he was able to take a bandage and dress her wound.

"Are you through?" she asked, her voices sounded more than a little impatient.

"Yes, I am."

She tried to sit up and turn out.

Anders sighed.

"Do that and you're sore will reopen. I have stitched it up, yes, but you really shouldn't move and strain the suture."

"I can't stay here; there are… things I have to do."

"They can wait until your injuries are healed."

She grimaced, staring at him with anger in her eyes. "I'm no child; I know what I'm doing."

"Really? Because it doesn't look like it."

She sighed. "And I'm serious. I cannot stay – I'll get in trouble if I don't report back."

"Your genteel noble parents surely can wait a little longer."

She was again clenching her teeth, but then she nodded with an unhappy expression on her still pale and pained face, and she leaned back.

"That wasn't that difficult, wasn't it?"

She shot a glance at him. "You talk too much. My leg is aching, so please, hush your mouth. I need to rest."

At least she had come to her senses. Anders turned his back to her and started put away his healing utensils. From time to time, he glanced at the woman – he still feared that she would try to rise and leave while he was busied with other things. She didn't look like the person who was able to keep her feet still. But she was still lying at her cot, her eyes closed, and was obviously trying to rest.

Anders took care of some other patients, who were less severely injured then the woman – he healed a few cuts and set a miner's arm, the former with and the letter without using his magic.

After the last of his patient had left, with only the strange woman remaining at his clinic – who seemed to sleep – he sat down at his desk, searching for some paper. He had nothing to do besides looking after that woman, and he doubted she would wake up so quickly. Her loss of blood had strained her; the Maker knew she needed some sleep.

Anders was sitting on his desk, he looked down at rumpled clews of paper covering at all over, and felt estranged from himself and his former life suddenly and painfully. It all had started so harmlessly and now he was here with the line between him and Justice blurring.

He sketched something on the paper, but it didn't please him. Was there anything in his life left to please him, he wondered. He could still remember the time before three years and how easily it had been to simply enjoy life. Now, nothing seemed as difficult as that.

Anders looked down at the scribbles; a bitter smile appeared at his lips. She didn't make things easier – the woman those face he had just tried to draw. He knew all too well that he wasn't her type. No man was.

This was pointless. And it was better that way. He didn't want her to become a Templar target because she was with an apostate mage. Possessed by a spirit who sometimes appeared less spirit-like.

He scrunched the scribbles up and rose to look after the stranger.

The woman lay at her side, her dark auburn hair covering her cheeks. She seemed almost peacefully, her formerly pained and ash pale face was still fair, but she didn't look like a living corpse anymore.

He checked her forehead to look if she was feverish – she was not.

While he was withdrawing his hands, her lids flickered and she slowly opened her eyes. Her glance shot around, flickering and disorientated.

"Maker…" she murmured with a weak and sleepy voice. "Where am I?"

Anders said nothing, waiting her remembering what happened.

She sat up abruptly and grimaced in pain. "Don't say anything… I remember it now. This is this Darktown clinic, isn't it? I remember you're treating my leg…"

"How do you feel?"

"Better, I think, but that's hardly difficult." She was wise enough to lie down again. "How long do I have to stay here?"

"Until I can remove the stitches" he answered.

"That isn't exactly accurate, you know? How long will that take?"

"That's hard to say. Your sore is both deep and large, so don't expect it to heal too quickly."

"This day is only going worse and worse." She sighed. "So I have to stay here for some days, isn't that what you're going to tell me?"

"Yes… can your parents stand it?"

She gave him an awkward gaze. "They can."

He smiled. "Don't worry, I am not the worst company. Most of the time."

"But maybe I am."

"We will have enough time to figure it out...?" He ended the sentence with a question, asking for her name.

"Catelyn" she answered. "My name's Catelyn. Yours?"

"Call me Anders."


	2. Chapter 2

"This isn't really your name, isn't it?"

The healer smiled. It was a gentle smile, warm and a little sad. "No, it isn't. But no one uses my real name, not even me."

Catelyn nodded. "I won't ask for it then."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply against the pain washing through her leg. Still she called herself a moron for not bringing her sword with her, she should have known better. No she was here, her leg aching and bandaged and she still felt dizzy and weak from all the blood loss. If she hadn't heard of the healer in the sewers, she could have died.

Normally she wasn't such an easy prey. Normally she wasn't defenseless, not at all. But it wouldn't help to think about what she was normally like. This wasn't hardly a normal situation, neither for her nor for the healer.

But she was still angered about her own stupidity. The undercity was not the safest place in all Kirkwall, as everyone – including her – knew very well, and still she had entered it unarmed.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" the healer – Anders – asked her.

"No…" She stopped. "Yes… yes, there is something, indeed." She cleared her throat. "I'm a bit thirsty, would you…?"

"The first sane decision you made… right after searching for help."

"I'm staying, just like you ordered. There's no need to tell me how stupid and irresponsible I am. That I know already."

"I get you your water." He answered, turning his back to her then. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply against the pain biting her whole leg with sharp, razor like teeth.

He heard water dabbling into something from a distance, then steps approaching her. She was craving for something fluid in her mouth like she normally craved only for Lyrium… She had to have lost a lot of her blood to feel so faint right now.

She opened her eyes and gave him a smile, grabbing for the clay cup he was holding. Anders was gentle enough to help her sit up a little, so she was able to drink more easily. Greedy and thirsty, she emptied the cup with deep swallows.

"Thank you…" She lied back. "That was good."

"Feeling better now?"

"A little." She peeked to her leg, which he had bandaged with quite a skill. "And still much better than before."

"So… I'm sorry, but I have to know. Why did you come to me?"

She grimaced. "I was bleeding to death and your clinic was close. These thugs attacked me out of nowhere, it all happened so fast. I wish to never visit Darktown again…" Not that she had much choice. "Take a look around… poverty and bad air and all that stone above your head."

"It isn't the most beautiful place in all Kirkwall, yes, but it's where I am needed the most."

"I couldn't live here. You must be either very altruistic or a masochist."

"Who knows? Sometimes I think it's a bit of the two of them."

"Anyway, it's good you're here. Darktown could be much worse without someone who cares for ... the poor. And I could be dead." She grimaced, inhaling deeply – again, her leg was aching.

"Wait a moment … I'll give you something against the pain." He turned around and started to something she couldn't see properly, but it looked like he was mixing something together.

Some years ago, she had visited one the well-equipped Hightown clinics, she remembered. She had been injured, cut in her upper arm, after fighting a particularly dangerous maleficar. The healers there hadn't been this… attentive. It hadn't looked like they really cared for her wellbeing – they had just done their work.

This clinic seemed to be a perfect opposite. This Anders seemed to be quite skilled as well, but she didn't feel like a job to him. Well, he had to care for his patients; otherwise he wouldn't work in the sewers …

He returned, a clay cup in his hands, fine vapor was fuming from it. Handing her the cup, she smelled herbs in the fume. The fluid in the beaker appeared to be viscous.

"This will ease you pain."

She grimaced and forced herself to empty the cup. The elixir tasted bitter, but at least it was warming her from the inside.

"Thank you." She returned the cup to him. "It was rank, but… I think it's already helping."

The pain wasn't gone, but the tincture took the sting out of her aching, slowly yet continuing. Also, she felt a little tired again.

"I think… I think I should sleep a little…"

Anders nodded, but stayed at her side while she was closing her eyes. She felt his presence next to her, and it was oddly comforting. Drifting away into sleep, her thoughts fading, she felt safe. To stay a few days didn't seem that bad …

* * *

Catelyn awoke, her leg was aching again, but it wasn't as bad as before. She could see the healer steps away, treating another patient. Her stomach was hurting from hunger. How long had she been asleep? She couldn't remember.

She rubbed her forehead. She was hungry, but she didn't dare to interrupt him while he was bandaging that little girls hand, so she resisted her urge to speak to him. Her stomach was able to wait a little longer.

"Be more careful the next time, will you?" he heard Anders say.

The little girl nodded. "I will try to."

"The mine shafts are dangerous, Lily. I don't want to fix your broken neck someday."

"I won't break my neck! This is only a stupid cut…"

"Let's hope so, by the Maker." Anders shook his head, turning to the girl's mother who was standing next to the two of them. "She is fine now. I hope she will take my warnings seriously."

"Thank you, Anders." The mother sniveled. "I hope it too. She doesn't listen to my warnings … no more. This is all that boy Colin's fault." She grabbed her daughter's hand. "I won't allow her to play with him any longer … yes … Come along, Lily, we have to go."

"That's not fair!" the girl cried.

"Say goodbye to Anders, thank him. And don't you dare to answer back, young lady."

Mewling, the girl did as she was ordered, and left the clinic together with her mother.

"Seems you have always something to do."

Anders turned to her. He looked a bit tired, leading her to ask herself if it was already that late. "Not always, but often. Darktown is a dangerous place to life in – thugs, mine shafts, rubble to fall over … did I mention the thugs?"

She flashed a smile. "I already had the pleasure meeting them."

"Good you survived the meeting. It would be shame if not."

"I'm quite pleased as well. And hungry. That too."

"I've already wondered when you would ask for some food." His smile was a little tired.

She watched him while he was searching for some foot and then returned to her with some cheese and bread and a cup full of water. It didn't look like there were enough for the two of them.

He helped her to sit up, but he did not show any intentions to eat anything.

"It's not necessary for you to starve yourself."

"I'll eat something … later."

_He is as poor as the others who live here. _Abruptly, she felt some pity for him. But she did not know him, so she didn't dare to say anything. Maybe he felt uncomfortable when she brought it up.

He left her alone while she was eating. The bread was decent, but nothing special, yet still it tasted better than everything she'd eaten before. The cheese was hard and almost tasteless, but she was too hungry to complain. The water was just water, but sometimes water was better than wine.

After a while, the healer returned to clear the cup and the plate. Catelyn lied back, eying the ceiling because she had nothing better to do and slowly began to feel a little bored. And restless. She always felt uncomfortable if there was nothing she could do to keep her mind and fingers busy.

"So… you're from the Anderfels, are you?" she started talking.

Anders turned his face to her, shaking his head. "I'm from Ferelden, as impossible as it sounds. But my parents are."

"So you came here fleeing the Blight?"

He seemed to hesitate. "I came here fleeing from … other things."

"What other things?"

"I have my reasons not to tell you. We all need our secrets."

"Yes, I agree. I've my secrets of my own. And I do not wish to tell them."

Whatever his reasons were, they weren't her concern. In a few days, she would be gone and she doubted to ever see him again. Maybe if she was forced to visit Darktown again, searching the refugee camps, but she had already decided to ask for another task. So perhaps she wouldn't need to visit the undercity again.

And if she had to nonetheless, she would wear her armor and her sword and shield to protect herself. Therefore, she would not need to visit his clinic again.

"You look a little bored" he spoke into her thoughts.

"That's because I am bored." She made a face. "It's not you, just the whole situation."

"Boredom is a common side effect of bedriddenness." He smiled his tired smile. "Maybe we'll find something to cure it?"

"Do you have something in mind?"

"I've some cards lying around here. But I have to warn you, I'm a horrible cards player."

"Why not? But I can't go anything. These thugs have robbed me right after cutting my leg open."

"Perhaps there is something you can do in case you lose? I don't know … sing something?"

She flashed a smile. "I'm a horrible singer. But I think, I could embarrass myself in case I lose. That's with you?"

"In case you win I'll give you my copy from _Hard in Hightown_. A friend of mine writes it, it's pretty good. And you wouldn't be bored anymore."

"I've heard about it. Last I visited the keep; the guards were discussing its main character." She hissed – a wave of pain was rolling through her leg.

"Shall I give you something against the aches?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, but thank you. Just bring these cards, will you?"

That he did, and she soon found out that he wasn't exaggerating while talking about his cards play skills. He was really horrible at it, but if she was honest to herself – she was only a little better. His face betrayed him time over time, but she was a complete beginner and often she hurried too much, losing her chances again and again.

But after all, it was enjoyable, and she had her fun. Even after she had lost to him, to her and his obvious surprise.

"Alright, I know what I have to do." She sighed and cleared her throat. _"Little girl, why are you crying? Look at the sky, the birds are flying. Look at the air where the winds are blowing. And look at the ground, the flowers are growing. Little girl, why are you crying? Look at the trees, where the animals lying. The cat, the dog, the horse and the deer. Enjoy the day, stop crying. Cheer!" _Heat was crawling into her cheeks. "As I said … horrible singer."

Anders shook his head. "It wasn't that bad. Is this song … a hymn of consolation?"

"Yes. My mother used to sing it for me and my brother before … well, a long time ago." She stopped. "Another game? Maker knows how badly a need this writing you spoke of."

Anders nodded, and so they played again. She was horrible as before, and so was he. In the end, she won nonetheless – and she wasn't sure if she had won because she had been better, or because he had let her win.

But it didn't matter to her. She started to read while Anders rose from her cot to do something at his desk. He was right – the novel was quite well-written and very amusing. She didn't feel bored any more.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders was pounding some elfroot into little pieces for an ointment, when he heard steps coming closer to him. Someone was humming behind him with a deep, full voice. He didn't stop – he had heard this song before, mostly in battle, and always on his side.

"I missed you in the Hanged Man the last time, Blondie", he heard the dwarf saying and turned his face to him.

"I was busy. You know – wounds so heal, bones to fix, such things."

It wasn't hard to imagine the smirk on Varic's face, while the dwarf answered. "I have eyes everywhere in this city, Blondie. Refugees all over, but not as much hurt than only three years ago. You're just avoiding us, Blondie." A knowing expression appeared in the dwarf's eyes. "Or are you just trying to avoid _her_?"

Anders rolled his eyes. "I'm not trying to avoid anyone of you. The next time I will be there. After I made sure my latest patient is well." He nodded towards Catelyn, who was still lying on her cot and busied with reading.

Varric smirked all over his face. "I ever knew my writings would someday do something good. There is nothing better than a fine story to make you feel better in an instant, just saying."

"I won't deny that." Anders shrugged. "I assume she will be able to leave the clinic tomorrow, the day after tomorrow at the latest. By all means, I will come to the Hanged Man. I so missed our meetings… even with Justice trying to keep me from drinking."

"I'm counting on you. You know, you're the only one who keeps Daisy from feeling like a complete looser. The last time, she lost her favorite brooch to Isabela, then most of her coin."

"Merrill is…"

"I'm a dwarf. I don't care for any of your magic issues, Blondie. I care for my friends, and Daisy needs a smile on her face. And who knows? Maybe that will stop her from cutting off her wrists?" Varric shrugged. "You have already agreed to come by the next time, Blondie. No backing off now."

Anders nodded. He smiled at the dwarfs, who had become of his few real friends over the past three years. He didn't get along well with some of Hawkes friends, especially Fenris and Merrill – the first a passionate mage hating bastard, constantly complaining about how bad his former master had been to him, a stupid and naïve blood mage the latter. But all of Hawkes friends seemed to like Varric, including himself. Varric cared for all of them, in his own smirking way.

"I will come. No excuses this time. If I won't show up, you have my permission to tell horrible stories about whatever you think I'm doing while I'm absent… like, maybe, slaying cute kittens in an ancient ritual to restore my crippled soul from… the darkspawn taint."

"I will remember that. But my stories won't include only kittens, Blondie."

"Then I'm warned." Anders laughed. "Believe me, I won't let you tell stories about me slaying _kittens_."

"In that case, you should better keep your word, Blondie." Varric blinked at him. "And now, I'm sad to say that I must leave. Doing my bloody brothers business, you know. Dealing with his… old friends. See you then."

"Be well." Anders watched the dwarf leaving.

If he was honest, he looked forward to their weekly meeting at the Hanged Man with a hint of fear. As much as he enjoyed being among his friends, he wasn't eager to see Hawke again.

He started chopping the elfroot again, then filled the shreds into a bag and stood up. It was about time to look after Catelyn, to find out how her wound was healing. Crossing the room, he approached her.

She was still reading, but raised her eyes at him while he was coming nearer.

"So you like it?" He pointed at the book.

"Yes. Your dwarf friend there has some talent for storytelling; I can see why the guardsmen at the keep love this." She raised an eyebrow, chuckling slightly. "I've heard the two of you talk, Anders. My leg is injured, not my sense of hearing."

"Varric is a notorious liar, Catelyn. And one of the best men I ever came to know. Anyway, I have to check on the stitches, change the bandages…"

"Do it." She flipped the pages. "So, tell me… darkspawn taint, magic issues…"

Anders suppressed a curse. Since when was he so careless of talking about these things? She had overheard it all, and of course she was curious now. He so should tell Varric to never mention _magic issues _again in public – in front of him. With patients nearby who were not from Darktown. The people of Darktown knew about him, but they also owed him. Catelyn, at the opposite…

"It's about the Knight-Commander." That was not a lie… not really. Meredith had been one of their topics. "I've got a friend in the Gallows and I worry about her." And Bethany as well.

Catelyn nodded without looking up from her reading. "I'm sure she is fine, Anders."

He wasn't so sure about that, but he did not dare to say more. Maybe he would say something he would later regret. Like hinting he was a mage as well and not only living down here because of altruistic reasons, but also to hide from the Templars. And the Grey Wardens. He did not wish to return. Neither to the Circle, nor the Wardens.

He removed the bandages from her leg, carefully to not hurt her, and inspected the wound. It seemed to heal well – no odd smell, no pus, and the stitches appeared to be strong, keeping the sore's edges together.

He applied a fresh salve on her wound and covered her leg again. Tomorrow evening she would be able to leave and walk away.

"You don't look too worried. Let me guess, I will be perfectly fine again?"

He smiled. "Yes. You will keep a scar, but besides this, your leg will be as good as new."

"Thank the maker!" She sighed in relieve. "You just saved my life. Twice. Honestly… my swords work would have become horrible otherwise."

Anders had to wonder why it did not catch his eyes earlier. Maybe it had been because of her bad condition, but now he realized that she was not simply a wealthy woman – besides her injury – but also actually well-trained. He did not doubt her ability to wield a sword.

"That looks like a rather unusual hobby for a nobleman's daughter."

"It is." She smiled at him. "I give you three guesses – that was already the first. Two left."

"A soldier?"

"No."

"A mercenary?"

"Maker, no." She looked at her book and started reading again. "But do not worry. You will find it out… someday."

Anders sighed. "Now I'm curious. If you are skilled swordsman, why were these thugs able to beat you?"

"Because I was stupid enough to came down here unprepared. I dragged no weapons with me besides that tiny little dagger... and they managed to steal it right from my hip. And, not to mention, I was a little bit outnumbered." She answered without looking up from the book.

"I leave you to your reading. Just call me if you need something."

She shot a glance at him, nodding slightly, and became engrossed into _Hard in Hightown _again.

Anders returned to work. Some bandages needed cleaning, and so he threw them into boiling water. He prepared spindleweed for a salve and searched to ignore his rumbling stomach. Again he had sacrificed his own food to help the woman – Catelyn – recover.

After a time, he got the feeling of being watched, and turned around.

His patient had stopped reading, and was now looking at him instead. A soft smile appeared on her lips and she raised a hand.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you…"

He approached her, shaking his head. "You did not interrupt me. The ingredients aren't running away from me when my back is turned."

"I'm sorry. Whatever you've done, I feel better and I do not need anything, besides…"

"Company?" Anders looked behind him and around. "The clinic has seen better times. Three years ago, I couldn't close an eye without another refugee entering my clinic and asking for help. But today… I guess, I should be happy. Less patients, less injured. It is cruel from me to be glad I have someone to speak with?"

"No, I don't think so. My injury was not your fault. I didn't see you among the thugs who attacked me." She smiled. "Besides, I enjoy talking with you. You're right, there is worse company…"

"Thank you. You're not that bad, too." He returned the smile.

He meant it. She was gentle and talking with her felt easy and natural. She simply had… something.

"So, tell me: What do you do when you're not helping the people down here?"

"I have some friends around here. Play cards, try to lure out cats…" _or to free the mages. _

He could not tell, if this was Justice' thought or his'. Maybe it didn't matter.

"The same friends you will meet at the Hanged Man some days later?"

"Exactly."

"But no cats among them?"

"No, unfortunately. Maybe they don't like this place."

Catelyn smiled. "I had a cat once. When I was a child. My father gave it to me… _A cat for my Cat, _he said. I so loved that kitten…"

"What happened to him?"

"She. My kitten was a female. Someday, she… was gone. Not dead, just gone." She stopped and shook her head, her face hardened.

"I'm sorry. My cat was taken away from me… for stupid reasons."

She looked at him. She had remarkable eyes, large and grey with a hint of green dust. He wondered why he hadn't noticed them before.

"Then I'm sorry too."

"Thank you… Well, at least it seems we have something in common."

"With my name, you have just two options: You either love or hate cats. Because everyone who knows you a little will call you _Cat_. I decided to like being compared to something so spirited and beautiful." She smirked. "Your turn: Why do you adore them?"

"Because they are _free_."


	4. Chapter 4

She had weird dreams. In the dreams, she was fleeing from… she couldn't tell from what, because every time she looked behind her, there was nothing at her back. Yet her heart was beating wildly, and all her senses told her what something wasn't right. But she could not tell what it was, and so she kept running from something invisible.

Catelyn rose from sleep abruptly, glancing wild around her, but she was still at the healer's clinic and everything appeared perfectly normal.

She begged the Maker to make it stop and rubbed her forehead. It was always the same; it always started the same way. While she was perfectly sane while awake, her dreams became weirder and weirder until… She should better return to Gallows as soon as possible, or it would become even worse.

Her throat felt dry, and she grabbed for the cup which was standing next to her. Greedy she downed the water with one gulp. Relieve was washing through her. She would not have to stay here any longer. The healer himself said so.

She tale a look around and saw him sitting at his desk, writing something. From her position she could not see more than that.

She didn't want to disturb him, so she took her copy of _Hard in Hightown _and started reading. At Darktown, it was hard to say which hour was, and so she simply had to wait until he would come to her to check her leg.

Anders friend, that dwarf named Varric, was a quite capable storyteller. She read how Donnen Brennocovick was after a vicious murderer and finally came to suspect one of his closest friends. While he was fighting the other guard and finally managed to kill him, the door opened and his Guard Captain walked in, telling him that the murderer had found a new victim and killed it already. Donnen spend the next chapter mourning the death of his friend who he had suspected mistakenly.

If she would ever see that dwarf again, she would have to tell him how much she enjoyed reading his writings. And how much it had helped her to flee boredom.

She couldn't tell how much time had passed when Anders finally appeared at her side.

"Time to check on your sore… and maybe removing the stitches."

"I will pray for the last part."

He gave her a smile and started removing the bandages which were covering her leg. She crossed her fingers, begging the Maker to make her whole again.

"You will be lucky. The wound looks well, thus I can pull the strings."

She nodded. "Do it."

"You're so eager to leave me and break my heart?"

"I would never break your heart, Anders." She smiled at him. "I just have to return… home soon. But don't worry, Kirkwall it smaller than it thinks it is. And the Maker's ways are unpredictable."

"Then I feel reassured. So… the next part will be probably a little unpleasant."

"Alright, I'll try not to scream – and to be calm and quit."

He started removing the stitches, and it really felt unpleasant, like something was pulling at her skin. She tried not to take heed of it, but that didn't work out very well. Once it was finally over, she sighed in relieve.

She sat up, looking down at the fresh scar on her leg. The sore's edges seemed to snuggle up to each other, even with the stitches removed. Her pain was fading, was only an echo from her former aches.

"Your wound is healing, but I suggest you to not run or jump for a few days. You should also wear bandages."

"For how long?" The Knight-Captain would not be pleased to hear that. None of them.

"Just two or three days."

She made a face and nodded acquiescently. What over option did she have? And she surely did not want to end as a cripple, with no use to everyone, no longer able to fulfill her duties. At least she would be able to walk again.

"So... am I allowed to get up?"

"After your wound is covered again, yes."

"Make it quick, please."

That he did. Her new bandages were at least of the lighter kind, therefore she was able to bend her knee and turn out of her cot with only a little help. She made a few steps, carefully. Her leg was still aching with every move she made, but she could stand it.

She spun around the cot and made sure she would be able to walk home without collapsing halfway.

Catelyn stopped right before the healer, smiling at him. "Thank you very much. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing. My clinic is open for everyone in need."

"Listen, these thugs have ripped my of all the coin I had with me, so I cannot repay you in gold for my life, but… I swear to you, I'll find a way to repay my dept. You saved my life – and my leg. There's no denying that."

He gave her his gentle sad smile. "That won't be necessary, but thank you."

"You're welcome…" Suddenly, she felt uncomfortable. She almost was a little sad that she would very likely never meet him again. Something with him, maybe his smile or the way he had treated her, was special. It was more than her gratefulness that made her feel sorry to leave him and his clinic for good. Maybe because she had started to see him as a friend of sorts… or at least as good company.

"Take care of yourself" she added and cursed her voice, which suddenly sounded a bit upset.

"I could tell you do the same."

"Yes, right. I should watch for thugs while…"

"Maybe I should accompany to you to the pulley blocks? Just to make sure you won't be attacked again."

She nodded. She was not exactly at her best condition, and unarmed as well. With him accompanying her, her chances to leave Darktown unharmed would be at least a bit greater.

"You're sure you will be able to protect me? You're a healer."

His smile went grim – and a bit deploring. "Every healer is also a killer, Catelyn. Just like the dose does made the poison."

"Speaking from experience, are you?"

His gaze was answer enough. She believed him, but it was difficult for her to see him as someone who was able to harm another being. He looked like a good man, yet… even the best man was sometimes forced to defend himself to the death. And Darktown was still a dangerous place. He could not live here without defending himself and his patients time to time.

She waited while he was taking a dagger and then followed him out of his clinic. Through the holes in the walls she could see that it was late afternoon or maybe already evening. The smell of dust and gases surrounded her and pierced her nose. Beggars were sitting or lying along her way, as well as some drunks who tried to touch her.

The healer walked with slow steps, carefully watching her from aside. It was obvious that he slowed down his paces only because of her, and she was grateful for it. Anders seemed to know the safest route from his clinic to the great pulley blocks which were used to travel from Darktown to Lowtown and the other way around.

The two of them stopped right before one the pulleys.

Catelyn sighed in relief. No thugs had attacked them on their way, if because Anders was with her or because they had something better to do… At least she had reached the pulleys unharmed and from now on she would be able to find her way safely. Lowtowns streets and even the docks were at least safe during daytime.

She turned around to Anders and gave him her brightest smile. "Thank you, again. I should be able to return how from now on without your help… I hope we will meet again someday."

"I wouldn't complain. I need to know how you named your kitten." His smile faded. "Take care of yourself. I don't want to see you at my clinic again… at least not as a patient."

"Neither do I." She turned around to the pulley and entered it. Laying a hand at the lever which would lift her up, she looked at him and said: "Maker bless you." And then she pulled it.

He disappeared slowly from her field of vision while the ropes and the platform brought her towards Lowtown. She regretted to leave him a little. But then Lowtown appeared before her, with its fresh air and its filthy roads, and she pushed the thought aside.

She could already smell a hint of salt in the air and inhaled the clean air – at least it was cleaner here than in Darktown, where chokedust covered the streets with its mist – deeply. Slowly, remembering the healer's words, she set out for the Gallows.

* * *

Catelyn left the boat and entered the courtyard, steeling herself for the things to come. She had been away for some days and she queried whether she would be welcomed back warmly, because she hadn't reported back. But she had simply not had another choice, unable to walk and surrounded by Darktown people who would never take her report to the Gallows.

Halfway across the courtyard, a voice stopped her.

Catelyn froze. Why had it to be _him_? Why not the Knight-Captain or… simply _someone else. _

"Look who had decided to show up again."

She turned around, slowly, snapping to attention even though she already despised his voice and his twisted smile…

"You are late, Knight-Corporal. To not to say: Too late."

She said nothing. He was still higher ranked than her and she did not want to get in even more trouble. But something inside her was boiling while she starring at his ice blue eyes. There was always something inherently cruel inside them, something that she did not like at all.

"Explain yourself!" he ordered.

"I was wounded while I was off-duty, Ser." She didn't stir. "While I was recovering I did not get the opportunity to report back. I had no other options."

"Why not returning with your injuries?"

Her eyes narrowed. "The wound was serious and needed care immediately. Sadly, I was too far away from the Gallows to return."

"We will see… Dismissed!"

She suppressed her sigh of relief and headed to the Templar hall and the Knight-Captains office. She better told him herself, or it would be Ser Alrik who reported her back. That would become unpleasant. The older Templar never liked her, mainly because he thought her to be _too soft. _Soft! If it was soft to don't be on fire for his idea how the mages should be treated, she would take that as a compliment.

Stopping before the Knight-Captains' office, she knocked and waited.

"Come in!"

Catelyn opened the door and entered.

The Knight-Commander was standing behind his desk, slightly frowning at her sight. Again, she snapped to attention, but this time she didn't feel sick while doing so. Cullen was actually more trusted by the local Templars than the Knight-Commander herself, maybe because he was showing his face and talking to his subordinates while Meredith had become more reclusive the past three years.

"Stand at ease." He sighed silently. "You haven't reported back the past days, Knight-Corporal." He nodded at her, signaling her to talk.

"Yes, I bet your pardon." She replied what she had already Ser Alrik a few minutes ago.

The Knight-Captain glanced at her bandaged leg and nodded. "I understand. How long will it take for you to recover completely?"

"Two days, Knight-Captain."

"You won't be of use as long as you are injured. Take the next two days to recover, then report back for your tasks. Dismissed!"

She nodded firmly and left the office.

Seems she had to wait for her Lyrium a little longer…

At least she had not got into much trouble… not from the Knight-Captain. Knight-Lieutenant Alrik, on the other hand… Well, she did not like _that _thought.


	5. Chapter 5

The air in the Hanged Man was filled with the smell of sweat, filthy bodies and stale beer. As soon as Anders entered the tavern, part of him was already revolting and telling him to leave.

_It's not like you would allow me to become lax_. _I will be sitting right before a full cup of beer the whole evening. Would you – please – let me have some fun now, would you? _

He could not tell if he was thinking to himself or Justice. He wasn't exactly able to _talk _to the spirit, because their thoughts appeared as one and the same. Only few parts of him seemed to belong only to Anders, not Justice. Like his memories of the Circle or at his childhood before the Templars had come to take him.

He took a look around and found his friends – and the friends of his friends – sitting around a table made of a blank and some barrels. Anders crossed the taproom to sit down between Varric and Aveline.

Varric lifted a hand, waving one the bar maids nearer. "My friend here needs a drink."

Anders sighed and watched the dwarf order him a beer. Varric knew as well as him that he hadn't been drunk for three years, yet he was still trying to change it. It was senseless to tell him to stop. Actually, Anders had never seen the dwarf drunk as well… Varric did not need to be drunk to be at a good mood.

"It's good you showed up. We've missed you the last time."

He forced a smile upon his face and looked at her. Hawke was sitting at the top of the table, leaning back at her chair, and again she was fitting her name perfectly, with her wavy honey hair and her suntanned skin.

He nodded. "It's good to see you again, Summer."

"Too sad you missed that story Varric was just telling." Hawke glanced at the dwarf. "He told of my first battle ever against an ogre… back at Ferelden. It was ridiculous, to be honest, but funny. Me and Bethany against… how much darkspawn? A hundred?"

"That's not the best part, Hawke. I haven't reached the part where you and your dear sister are saved from a high dragon and then flew on its back…"

"Speaking of Bethany… how is she?" Anders looked over to Hawke.

"She writes me letters. Her last one told of some Templars with strange opinions, but she was also writing that she tries not to get in their way, so I think she's perfectly fine."

Anders nodded while one the bar maids placed a cup of beer right before him and then left.

_This isn't just. You know, she shouldn't be at the Circle… _He shook his head. This time, he was almost certain that it had been Justice who was thinking. But… just almost. He felt sorry for Bethany, too. The Circle of Kirkwall was much worse than that in Ferelden. He would only enter it to help some of its mages to escape. _But that is not enough. _

"But you didn't meet her at the courtyard the last time you visited the Gallows?" he felt urged to ask.

"No." Hawke shook her head. "You don't have to worry about her. She wrote that she is fine and that the Circle isn't actually that bad. I believe her."

"Oh, shut up, both of you." Isabela rolled her eyes. "We know, Templars are bad, mages are poor, I get it. Why can't we talk about something funny and exciting?"

"Isn't our little bunch of misfits funny enough?" Hawke smiled at Isabela in way she never smiled at _him_. It was more than obvious that she was interest the pirate. "I mean, look at us. A dwarf who is an notorious liar, an ex-slave with tattoos out of Lyrium, a Dalish blood mage, an abomination, the Captain of the Guard, a noble who likes to drink dishwater rather than wine and not to forget a beautiful pirate captain without a ship…"

"Yes, please twist the knife in this wound of mine." Isabela sighed.

"But I have a point."

"Not with Aveline. She is just the Guard-Captain."

Hawke shrugged. "Every bunch of misfits needs someone sane and reasonable."

Anders stared into his beer and then pushed it aside. Something aside him revolved by the mere idea of drinking it. He felt a pair of eyes burning at his skin and turned his face in the direction.

"Whatever you have to say, Fenris – shut up." He heard the elf's voice already in his head, telling him that even _Hawke _called him an abomination.

The elven warrior frowned, but stayed silent.

Maybe he was just overreacting. He felt tensed to the bone in Hawkes presence, always. Part of him told him he was obsessed and should better get rid of that feeling. Three years of aching for her had only made it worse. Especially that time then he had told her how he was feeling. He remembered the pity in her eyes when she rejected him, telling him that she had always felt attracted to other woman and could never see him that way, even if she wanted to.

It was hard to tell when, but at some point at this evening, Hawke and Isabela both get up and left the taproom for the stairs heading at the quarters. Isabelas quarters, most likely.

Anders rose and left the tavern, leaning against the wall then, cursing at himself and his own dumbness. Around him the streets darkened, while he was fighting his stupid jealousy. He needed to calm down, to push his angry thoughts aside, these thoughts who haunted him and told him he was a fool and hopelessly lost while desiring the affection of someone who would never be able to return his feelings.

Summer Hawke was taken, one way or another.

He heard steps approaching and looked up, again tensed, but this time also ready to defend himself. Lowtown was not the safest place after nightfall, and he did not feel the urge to pick his own insides up from the ground.

But it was just Varric.

"You know, you should finally get over her."

"I know" was all he replied.

"Honestly, Blondie, if you're looking for someone to cuddle you, there are plenty of options outside. Just take a look around. You aren't that bad looking."

"Still it wouldn't be the best idea. I'm an apostate, after all, and everyone who's helping me puts his own life at risk."

"Then I'm glad to be dwarf and therefore absolutely magicless." Varric shrugged.

"I don't even know how I like her. She is careless and has no real opinion! I never met someone so indifferent."

"Hawke is funny, and she cares for her friends. Not everyone can be as deep as you and me, Blondie." Varric smirked. "Anyway, I'm at the bar room if you need a second drink – or a listening ear."

With these words, he turned around and returned to the Hanged Man, leaving Anders in the dark streets. Anders made himself ready to enter the tavern as well. Cold wind blew from the harbor, smelling like salt and fish.

He was an idiot to mourn the loss of something he never had. Hawke wasn't his' and would never be…

Again, he heard steps coming nearer and reached for the tavern's door to enter it quickly –

"No need to be afraid of me." Abruptly, he turned around. He knew that voice.

It really was her. Relieve was washing through him and placed a smile at his face.

"Catelyn! What are you doing here?"

"Some friends of mine head to the Blooming Rose, but I didn't want to join them." She shrugged. "I heard, the Hanged Man has got the best catpiss in whole Kirkwall."

"That could be…" He never tasted the spirits at the Hanged Man, thanks to Justice.

"I will have to find it out, I guess." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I tell you something: You're free to join me at the bar, and I buy you a drink. This time I really have some coin with me… and it isn't robbed yet."

She didn't wait for his answer and entered the tavern. Anders shook his head, sighing, and followed her shortly after. He didn't want to look at Hawkes empty chair and think about something that would never happen. It wouldn't hurt him to ask how Catelyn had recovered since she had left the clinic. At least, it would distract him from thinking of Hawke.


	6. Chapter 6

Catelyn felt again the urge to punch that bastard right into his face. Luckily for him, she was already too far away to do so – and to risk her own future and her position among the Order. As if he had learned to read her mind, he had sent her directly into the part of Kirkwall she had hoped to never visit again. Darktown.

At least her leg wasn't aching anymore, and her weird dreams had stopped.

She was alone, but this time she was well-prepared and would not fall victim to some thugs again. It felt good to wear her armor again and feel the weight of her longsword at her hip and that of her shield at her back. Yet still, she felt uncomfortable. The people down here did not see her as prey any longer, but now they watched her with mistrust, disgust, even hate.

At Hightown, and even parts of Lowtown, the citizens treated Templars at least with some amounts of respect, sometimes even high regard, but the people of Darktown were different. Living at the bottom of Kirkwall had forged them together with ties stronger than even blood could be, and they protected each other, regardless of that they were.

She sighed underneath her helmet. Patrolling Darktown was an unrewarding task, and dangerous too, and she knew this was exactly the reason because she was here. Ser Alrik wished to see her punished, and she was near sure he had overheard how he mentions her dislike in the face of Keran and some of the other recruits.

She passed some beggars who froze at her sight and entered on of the camps located in a side chamber. Dust was rising from the ground, drying her throat almost immediately. Even her closed helmet was not able to protect her from it. She resisted the urge to choke.

"Hey!" she heard someone calling and turned her face at the direction. "Get off! We don't need your Templar filth down here!"

The speaker was an old hag, her hair gray and thin, her face saggy and lined. With narrowed and tripping steps she approached Catelyn, starring fearlessly up to her helm-covered face. Catelyn could almost smell the old woman's disgust.

"If you are hiding any mages here, you have to tell me", answered Catelyn with the firmest of her voices.

The old woman pressed her lips together and silenced.

Catelyn suppressed her sighing. "Now!"

"Are you trying to threaten my, Templar whore?" The hag laughed harshly. "Do you think your shiny armor and your blade are frightening me?"

Catelyn tried to stay calm, telling herself that it did not help – neither herself nor the woman – to yell at her. The urge was still there, but she resisted. These people were mainly afraid and did not know it better. Perhaps they had friends who are mages and just wanted to help them. Perhaps they did not know what happened to a mage who failed to resist a demon's offering.

"I just want to help. Please, be cooperative. I won't harm these apostates unless they are maleficarum."

"We have no mages here, Templar. Go away and look elsewhere."

The woman was lying. Catelyn had known from the first moment that the hag was hiding something, but now she was almost certain – this woman knew something and she was brazen and dumb enough to lie right into her face. Anger started boiling inside her.

"Where are them?" She stepped closer to the old woman, who appeared to be shrinking right before her eyes.

"I won't tell you! You will imprison him!"

"Him?" echoed Catelyn softly.

"Let me go!" The crone sniveled.

"People like you only make it worse. For you and for the mages you seek to hide. Where is this mage?"

Suddenly, the woman started laughing, hysterically and way too amused. "Alright, if you really believe you can enchain him… the last time I saw him he went this way!" She pointed her finger at the direction.

Catelyn froze. "Thank you." Her voice had an odd sound.

She spun round and left the chamber with wide paces.

If the woman was right, there were only two options left. The first was, that the mages went to the clinic to hide himself among the patients there or let the healer treat his injuries. The second… Something inside her resisted to accept that second option.

She reached the clinic and pushed one of its two doors wide open.

Anders had not noticed her just yet. His back was turned while treated a miner's leg – which was horribly shattered – with… His hands were glowing in clean and warm light, and wherever the light was touching the miner's limp, it was cured almost immediately.

The second option was it. The healer _was _the mage. The apostate.

She drew her sword. The sound of the blade rasping over the leather sheath was still a silent one – but it was enough to alert the apostate. He stopped healing the man's leg and spun round at her.

His face betrayed him. She saw fear, anger, even hate, all directed to her, and they all felt… wrong. Wrong, because she remembered his expression as warm and caring and a bit melancholic, even sad at times. Not twisted from disgust and fright.

"A…postate." She had almost called him by his name. "You will come with me. Now."

If she would allow herself to hesitate, only for short moment, she would lose – and she knew it. Her duty was clear. It didn't matter that she liked him. Or had liked him. He was an apostate. And she would prefer to take him to the Circle alive instead of killing him. He was still a good man. And she had seen his wrists from a close distance. He was a mage, that for certain, but not a blood mage at least.

"You won't have me." He grabbed a stave which he had obviously hidden underneath one of the cots and fire started to burn at his hands.

Catelyn reacted as she had had a hundred times before: She focused herself and countered his magic, cleansing the area.

"That's why I hate you Templars so much." He starred at her, anger in his eyes. Obviously he did not recognize her – her helmet covered her face completely, and her voice sounded tinny through it. "You deny us our freedom and take away our ability to defend ourselves."

"I won't argue with you. You can have it the easy way or the hard one." She kept her sword drawn and approached him slowly. With every pace, she called herself a fool. Why hadn't she noticed him being a mage before? Since when had she become that lax? Maybe Ser Alrik was right to call her soft…

_You know exacty, why: He was careful, you were hurt, and don't forget that you already started suffering from withdrawals… _

He sighed and suddenly looked very tired. "I always knew you would someday find me. Either you or the Wardens…"

"The Wardens? Like in Grey Wardens?" She had to wonder why she was that interested. Or why she cared. Why a part of her searched for a reason to actually _let him go. _

His eyes narrowed. "Yes, that are exactly the Wardens I-"

"Are you trying to tell me you are one of them?" she inquired.

"Yes." She saw hope in his eyes, only a small hint of it. "I am a Grey Warden. You Templars are not allowed to drag me with you."

He was right… as long as the Wardens watched over him. She did not see any other Wardens here. This was ridiculous, she herself pathetic. Why did she care about his past? Even if he was telling the truth, he wasn't with the Wardens any longer. She had every right – and the duty! – to take him with her and to the Gallows.

"You are alone. Where are you fellow Wardens now, apostate?"

"I don't know whether this is your concern. Not every Wardens fights Darkspawn, some of us care for their victims instead."

Now he was trying to make something up out of thin air. She could sense it.

Suddenly, she remembered what he had told her only a few days before. It all made sense now. Every word of him.

"You're a deserter, are you? You came here… not fleeing the Blight, but the Wardens."

"You can you-" He froze, starring at her. His already pale face went even paler. "That helmet… Pull it off."

She did not know when he actually started to become suspicious, but now he certainly was.

And instead of telling him he had no right to give her orders, she did as commanded and removed her helmet.

"I knew… I knew your voice sounded familiar. Well, at least I know your profession now." His voice sounded angry and dashed – and a bit taunting.

"It's nothing personal, Anders." Why she felt urged to excuse herself? She was doing the right thing, and she should arrest him – now. This moment. Immediately. "Just my duty. Don't make it worse and surrender. Before I'll be forced to do something unpleasant."

"What unpleasant? Cage me? Tranquil me? Kill me?" He moved backwards – obviously he tried to escape the cleansed area, so he could use his magic. She followed him and stayed concentrated. If she would let her focus down, he would attack her with all the power he had. She could see it in his eyes.

And she would not hesitate to kill him if he tried. But she hoped he would come to his senses and simply surrender. He had saved her life. Killing him would be the most terrible way to thank him for it.

"Anders, surrender! Last warning."

He stumbled and shook his head, his face distorted from moment to another. "No…" she heard him murmuring. "Not yet. Not right here…"

Catelyn frowned, stopping in the middle of one of her steps, watching him with sudden concern. She did not know why, but she sank her sword.

"I beg you, leave! You're not the only one who doesn't want to do something unpleasant."

"You're an apostate."

"Yes. I won't deny that. I'm the apostate who saved your worthless life, Templar. You want me to come with you and leave all these people here alone and without help. If you really want me to leave and live in the Gallows, you will have to knock me unconscious and drag me out of here."

Catelyn sighed. He was right. Terribly right. She owned him her life, but her life belonged to the order. She had dedicated it to the Templars a long time ago. Because it was the right thing. Because it gave her a purpose. But without him, she would not stand here, right now, and treat him. He had given her a second chance. He saved her, healed her. And not only her… but so many others.

"Damnit!" she cursed and approached him…


	7. Chapter 7

Heat shot through him, and his head ached from pressure. It felt like he was bursting from the inside.

_A Templar! She is a Templar! _Justice' yell or his'?

He stepped back while she approached him, the black flaming sword on her cuirass harassing and taunting him. How could that be the same woman? How could it be, that her face, once laughing and smiling, was now so determined and merciless?

_It doesn't matters! She lied to you from the start! _

She would not have him. Neither she nor any other Templar would force him to life in the Circle again. And if he had to kill her to stay free, he would do it – without remorse. He had killed for his freedom before, and he would kill for it again. For his freedom, and that of every mage in Thedas.

_Crash her! She is the enemy! _Justice' yell, he was almost certain. The spirit was ranting and raving, but it was still Anders, who was in control. If the Templar saw what was inside him, what he really was, she would kill him without hesitation. She did not know the difference between an abomination and… whatever he had become.

"Damnit!" she cursed and approached him.

With a deep sigh, she sheathed her sword and shook her head. Surprise lingered in her eyes, surprise paired with… was that desperation?

From one moment to another, her determination, her merciless, her certainty faded away – at least, it appeared that way. Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking a little, while she starred at him, then at her sheathed sword and again at him. There was nothing left of the determined Templar who threatened him, who silenced his magic.

Instead, she looked…

For the first time he realized how young she really was. She could barely be older then twenty-five years, and now, she looked even younger. And vulnerable.

_She is still a Templar! Kill her now, before she attacks us again! _

Anders didn't listen. To himself or Justice or maybe both of them – what did it matter? Part of him was… not yet convinced that she really deserved to die, while the other part was demanding her death.

"Stay free… for now." Her voice sounded tired and desperate.

"What?" He could not believe what he was hearing!

"I must be a complete moron, but: Yes, you heard that right." She sighed, but wasn't avoiding his gaze.

"You wanted to arrest me, up to now."

"Do you like to argue with me? Test me, maybe? So I can change my mind again?"

"No… I just don't understand." Why would a Templar let him go? Let him walk free? All the Templars he had ever met had just searched to bring him back into the Circle, as soon as they realized what he was. Even she, but suddenly… not anymore.

What had changed? What had changed her mind? From one moment to another?

"It's like you said: You saved my life. And I promised you, I would repay you for it. My life in exchange for your freedom. Doesn't that sound fair?"

"So you just… keep your sword sheathed and walked away? Like that had never happened?" He could not believe that.

"No. I'm still a Templar, and my life belongs to the Order. I… think we can find a better way. You stay free, but… I will come back. To watch you, not to take you to the Gallows. To hunt you down, if I must."

"I know there would be a catch." He sighed. This was no true freedom. Not as long as she sneaked through Darktown to watch every of his steps. He did not know if he would appreciate being observed like that.

"Either this way or the Gallows. It is your choice to make." She crossed her arms before her chest, watching him vigilantly out of her grey-green eyes.

Anders sank his staff. He was no fool, no matter what some of his "friends" thought of him. He would not test his luck by angering her, so she could drag him to the Gallows like she had formerly intended to do. He was no match to her, not without his magic. And she prevented him from using it. His connection to the Fade was broken, and it would stay broken as long as she wanted it that way.

"I agree. Better to be watched in freedom than in prison."

"I knew you would be reasonable." She rubbed her forehead. "I don't wish to be the one who steals these people here their only healer."

"You care?"

"Why so surprised? I was poor myself, once. I appreciate your work here, even if I… don't wish to life among those people." Her gaze softened. "You know as well as I that would happen if I would bring you to the Gallows. And I don't see where the people here do need protection before you…"

"I… thank you." He nearly choked the words.

Had he any reason to trust her? Just for a second?

_No. She is a Templar. A bloody Templar who holds my life in her hands, from now on. And she will not hesitate to throw it away. _

"You don't have to fear me." A smile appeared on her face, and suddenly she looked like he remembered her. Like the woman whose wounds he had treated, like the woman who had played cards with him and lost, like the woman who had bought him a drink a few days ago. She looked so wrong, wearing that armor of oppression.

_That woman was a lie! Don't be tricked by her! You have seen her real face! The face of the fiend she is!_

He could not tell if he was warning himself against her, or if it was Justice.

"I don't know you. You never told me what you are."

She raised an eyebrow. "You never asked. If you had, I would have told you without hesitation. It is nothing I'm ashamed for, Anders."

He wished he could prove her, how wrong she was. She should be ashamed. More than ashamed that she was a jailor, an oppressor, one of those man and woman who denied people their freedom because of something they were born with. Which they didn't choose. She had made the wrong decision. She so should be ashamed and plagued by remorse. Every second of her life.

Instead of telling her all of that, he said: "Would you please stopping to shut my magic of? I have a leg to heal here…"

She followed his gaze, looking at the miner he had treated before she had interrupted him.

"Of course. But if you try to attack me-"

"I'm no fool, Catelyn. That wouldn't help me, would it?"

She stayed silent, and he felt relieved from one moment to another. His connection to the Fade was restored! Turning his back towards her, he summoned healing light into his hands and continued healing the miner's leg, fixing his bones and curing his flesh with his pure will.

Her eyes were still piercing his neck, but he tried to ignore her. It was easier said than done. And, most disturbingly, it did not feel like he was observed by a Templar! Not as long as he did not think about her being one of them. He started to wonder, why. Maybe because he had first seen her wearing normal clothes out of linen rather than in full Templar armor along with shield, sword and helmet.

_Don't relax in her presence!, _he warned himself – or was it Justice?

"I leave you alone with your patients now", he heard her say at his back. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm away, Anders. I'll keep watching you."

He heard her heavy and rattling steps leaving. A relieved sigh left his chest when she was gone. Finally.

And the miner's leg looked as good as now. The thankful gaze of the man met his'.

"I owe you, pal." The miner stood up and took a few steps. "Glad that lady didn't drag you with her…"

Anders forced a smile unto his lips. He was almost certain it looked like toothaches…

"I'm glad about it, too." But he was not stupid enough to believe he was free. She would return, in all her shining Templar armor, watching every of his steps closely and vigilantly. He didn't like the thought. Not at all.

It looked like he had just gained his personal Templar…

* * *

Catelyn could not stop about thinking herself as a fool.

What she had just done could probably mean the end of her carrier. If Meredith found out… or the Knight-Captain, or _everyone else_, she would lose everything. Her rank, her shield, her place among the Order, her friends among the Templars – who were her only friends, since everyone she had known before she joined the Order had turned their backs to her -, the trust of her superiors, her whole future… She could end in the gutter! A pathetic girl who would soon be haunted by delusions, losing her grip on reality, while begging for enough coin to buy the next flask of Lyrium from some dubious smugglers.

She set her whole life at risk by doing this. And yet it was the only way she had seen to repay him for the dept. He deserved it – the chance to prove he was no threat to everyone, but someone who could be trusted. Maybe she could better serve the Maker by allowing this apostate to stay free and help the poor and the lost.

She sighed helplessly.

Maybe she was just a poor Templar, one who felt sympathy for whose she had sworn to protect and, if needed, to hunt down. Maybe that was why Ser Alrik called her weak and soft.

But maybe she was right instead, and he wrong…

_Magic is to serve people, not rule them. But how could his magic serve people if I had taken him to the Gallows? He can do better down here than within the Circle's walls. _

And if it turned out that he was a danger, she would be ready. Ready to do whatever she had to do.

Anders was a good man doing good things. Yet he was still mage… She would watch over him, keeping an eye on him. Maybe that didn't make her a better Templar, but it silenced her conscience.

She stepped on one of the pulley platforms and pulled the lever.

Since when had she become that weak-willed? She had never hesitated before when she had faced apostates. Had never allowed one of them to stay free. They were all dead or at the Circle. Good people among them, too.

She remembered his eyes, sad and laughing, and his smile, and his voice, and the things he told her… Maybe it was that simple.

She liked him. She was grateful. He had saved her life and cared for her. He had been her only company for days. She came to knew him – at least a little – without knowing who he was. And thus, without any prejudice.

He was another case than the other apostates she encountered before. A more complicated case.

Maybe there was no other solution.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a hot day and the sun burned merciless down on their heads. They had left the city during late forenoon, now travelling along the Wounded Coast, looking out for some raiders or slavers who were dumb enough to search their prey near Kirkwall.

Anders hadn't indented to come with Hawke, Isabela and Fenris – he could think of better company – but he had felt the urge to leave the city for a time. The past last days he had constantly felt watched, and he knew where this feeling came from. His personal Templar took her duty all too seriously.

So he had closed his Clinic and joined Hawke just before the city gates, even if some parts of him had refused and called him a moron. He had just managed to lead himself out of the frying pan into the fire… But somehow the fire was a little more appreciated.

He followed the three of them, the last in the line. Summer looked beautiful, laughing and jumping with every second step. Sometimes she turned around, for no other reason than waving at them with the most joyful of all smiles. This were the moments when Anders remembered why he that obsessed with her.

True, she showed no signs of real interest in the great problems of this world, but he never met someone like her before, someone who embraced life that willingly and without compromises like she did.

She was a little bit… like he had been, before Justice happened. He missed being that spirited and playful. Even more while looking at her, looking at all he had lost.

_I have sacrificed it for the greater good. I was never like her. I just thought I was! _

_But maybe I'm just jealous at her. _

They crossed between two near-derelict pillars, which casted no shadows in the midday sun. The air was shimmering from the heat. Silence surrounded them, just interrupted from Hawkes laughter.

"Something is wrong." Fenris' voice was low and tense and one of the elf's hands grabbed after his greatsword.

"What?" Hawke stopped and turned around to him, raising an eyebrow. "I don't hear anything."

"That's the point. It's too quiet."

"You're paranoid, Fe-"

The humming sound of a flying arrow interrupted her.

"Down!" Anders heard himself and Isabela yelling simultaneously.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how Isabela followed her own advice and throw herself to the ground. He slumped, while a second arrow flew over his head and pierced itself into the sand.

Lifting his head, he could see how Fenris rushed forwards. The elf's Lyrium markings were already glowing, and he had his sword drawn. Left of Anders, Isabela jumped of the ground, throwing on of her daggers with a curse on her lips.

Anders looked around… Where was Hawke? Maker, if she was hurt…

He pulled himself together, threw his staff and called to the Fade and its wild and unsteady power. Its touch was cool and refreshing, sharpening his senses and clearing his mind. Rushing forward, he could see the attackers behind on the hills and above it. Fenris and Isabela had taken the fight to them, and he hurried to join them.

He threw the fire off his hands and towards the enemy, listening to their cries when they burst into flames.

But there were so many of them, armed with daggers and shortswords and bows. He had to keep moving to not being hit from one their arrows. Isabela and Fenris fought back to back – she wild and dirty, he more disciplined but swift like a whirlwind. They circled around each other, attacking whose foolish enough to attack them.

But still, no sign of Hawke…

Anders searched cover behind on the pillars, diving into his magic and pulling power off the Fade. Cold flashes shot from his fists, freezing one of the thugs – who was quickly crushed by Fenris' greatsword.

Weaving his next spell, he focused on one the archers standing at the side, and wrapping him in flames. Leaning back against the pillar, he took a deep breath. He was already starting to get a headache from using that much magic at once, but he was still concentrated enough to not lose his connection to the Fade.

He rushed forward, wielding his staff and throwing arcane bolts at the highwaymen. He was already focusing to cast the next spell…

Whirling around, Isabela cut the last bandits throat.

"Where is Hawke?" Fenris sheathed his immense blade.

"I'm certain she is here somewhere…" Isabela shrugged. "She would never miss the chance to kick some asses…"

"They shot at us." Anders rushed back to the spot where they got attacked. "Maybe, she…"

"She is normally a quick one", Isabela said.

"And careless. Perhaps she did not see the arrow coming." Fenris frowned and took a look around. "Venhedis! I knew it!"

Anders followed the elf's gaze.

It seemed that Fenris had been right. In the heat of the battle, they all had overlooked that Hawke was still lying at the same place where the bandits surprised them.

She was bleeding. An arrow stuck in her right thigh, but she was alive – Anders could see, she was still breathing. Her eyes were wide open, filled with pain.

He hurried at her side and knelt down.

"You can fix this, can you?" She gasped. "Of course you can."

He simply nodded. Compared to another woman's wound he had treated a week and few days ago, this one looked like a scratch.

"Rip this damn dart off my leg and… do whatever you must." Hawke grimaced in pain. "I don't want to have sand in my leg, you know? Or a dart…"

"This will hurt", he warned her.

"I know. You healed me a lot of times before, Anders. Just make it quick."

She yelled when he took and broke the arrow and drew it out her leg. Quickly, he summoned to his magic and started healing the wound, from the inside to the surface, so she would not bleed into herself. Her hand grabbed his other arm and he felt her finger's piercing through the clothes. He choked and avoided her gaze, his heart racing from her touch.

Why couldn't he forget her? Her smile and the fragrance of her honey hair, all of it? He had tried, more than once, and always he had failed so badly.

"Anders…" he heard her say. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes. It's nothing", he lied and removed her hand from his arm, gentle but definite. _No_, whispered a voice in his mind, _it'll never be alright. _

"You're such bad liar!" Hawke rolled her eyes, sitting up. "I'm so sorry…"

"Hawke-"

"Shut up, you fool." She shook her head, and suddenly she looked sad and sorry. "If I would be… another kind of woman, I would marry you from the spot. But I'm not. Much to my mother's desperation! You need to move on, the sooner the better."

"That's easier said than done, Summer."

She nodded. "I know. But you need to accept that it will never be. Get over it. Get over _me_. You're not the only one who will never get what you wanted…" She pressed her lips together and sighed, her gaze flashing over to Isabela. "I know all too well what you're feeling."

"Isabela is… what happened?"

Summer made a face. "I am you, in a matter of speaking."

He nodded and cursed the part of him who was suddenly filled with complacent joy. Isabela had rejected Hawke, just like Hawke had rejected him all these months ago. Maybe it was poetic justice? She deserved it, deserved to suffer from it like he had and still was. Yet still… He didn't want to see her sad. He did not understand Isabela. In the pirate's place, he had…

But this was pointless. Hopeless. He was not.

"Is she alright?" he heard the pirate captain say and rose to turn around at her.

"She is fine."

Proving his words, Hawke get up too, smiling at Isabela without any hints of what she was really feeling. Obviously, she was better in hiding her emotions than he was.

"Just a flesh wound. Nothing serious." Hawke shrugged. "I suggest we continue our travels?"

"That's Hawke, in the flesh." Isabela grinned at her. "At least, it's never get boring in your company…"

"Yes, because _trouble _is my second name…" Hawke laughed. "And I'm so sick of keeping my feet quiet." She waved Fenris nearer, who had watched them silently, keeping one of his hands near his greatsword. "Any bandits or highwaymen nearby?"

"No." Fenris frowned. "Are you sure about-"

She interrupted him. "Damn sure. I'm fine, Fenris, you don't need to watch over me, like I would collapse and bleed to death every moment. Anders _healed _me."

"I see." He didn't sound convinced.

Anders rolled his eyes. "I would never hurt Hawke, Fenris, neither willingly nor unwillingly. You don't must watch over every of my steps as I would go on a rampage every moment!"

"Maybe _you _wouldn't, but what about the demon?"

"Justice is no demon, and _yes_, he would never hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it. Hawke certainly does not…" _… but about you, I'm not that sure. Don't test me, bastard! _

"Believe what you wish. I have seen what is inside you, _mage._"

"We all have, Fenris." Hawke rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a deep sigh. "But I trust Anders' skills as a healer. I'm fine, really. But thanks for your concern."

Fenris frowned and nodded fiercely, but no word left his lips.

Anders shook his head and sighed. Almost three years had passed since he met that stupid, ignorant elf and still, that bastard did not trust him. No matter how often he showed him that he could be trusted. No matter how often he had healed this stubborn douchebag's wounds. It seemed to him that the elf was only waiting for one moment of weakness from Anders, for the moment in which he would lose control to be overthrown by Justice. Just to have a reason to slay him immediately… Well, that was just one more reason to stay in control. That bastard would not see him falter!

"Are you finished with your stupid cockfight now?" he heard Isabela saying. "You're giving me a headache!"

"They are!" Hawke rolled her eyes. "Am I right?"

Her tone of voice tolerated no dissent.

Anders saw Fenris nodding, grim and fiercely, and felt urged to do the same. If the elf was giving into it, he was more than able to the just the same.

"Wonderful!" Hawke whirled around. "And now, we should head to that hide-out I'd heard about. My arrows are getting thirsty…"

"You should name your bow", Isabela said. "You and Varric, you're two of a kind, you know? And I think, Bianca needs a bowfriend…"

Hawke laughed. "Well, I guess, _Rodrik _would be a fine name…"

* * *

He had half awaited that _she _would be there upon his return, but the clinic was empty and there was no sign of his _personal _Templar everywhere.

He felt relieved – and a little surprised.

She had told him that she would return and watch him, and after he had left the city to hunt slavers with Hawke… He wouldn't be surprised if she had awaited him to tell him that he wasn't allowed to leave the city or… something of the kind.

Well, maybe he was more than just a little surprised.

_You should be happy about it. She will bother us soon enough. _

Throwing his staff and his coat aside, he sat down on his plank bed and took a deep breath. It didn't matter if she had been here while he had been away, or if she would show up tomorrow. Not this moment, at least.

He was too tired to worry about it now. The day and the hunt had strained him. Hawke had found her slavers, hiding in a cave, and slayed them all mercilessly, but not until they had fought another bunch of highwaymen. She had certainly enjoyed the fighting, and the wandering. This woman could be very demanding if she wanted something, and she had never been the resting type. In the end of the day, they all had been exhausted, even Fenris, who was normally always on the go.

Spending the whole day in Hawkes presence had had at least one advantage – besides evading his personal Templar. It had cleared some things between him and Summer up. Not enough to forget her completely – or at least, his feelings for her – but enough to feel more relaxed while around her. He had the feeling that she did understand him now, even if she would never be able to _love _other than a friend.

But maybe… that had to be enough. Maybe they could be friends again, sometime.


	9. Chapter 9

She raised her shield, blocking the attack, while the recruit tried again to break her defenses. His sword cut the air, meeting her shield's iron, leather and oak wood with a rattling sound. Not backing of, she let him do his best, simple defending herself and waiting for the right moment. When she saw his swords arm weakening, becoming lazier with every strike, she evaded the next one and cut her own sword in a deep bow. He tried to back off, but failed and fell down. Immediately, she rushed over him, laying the point of her sword on his throat.

"I didn't think you were that fast…" The recruit gasped and crawled back to evade her blade.

Catelyn smiled and reached him her, pulling him on his feet again. "Take it as your lesson today: Never underestimate your opponent."

"Bloody oath!" He sheathed his sword, saluted and left the drill place to sit down on a bench, while the next recruit approached her.

Catelyn posed back and prepared for the next fight, raising her shield, glancing at her next opponent. A firm grim appeared on her face. This would to be a good fight. Keran was still a recruit – due to some circumstances in the past – but he had the skills of a full trained Templar, or was at least very close to them.

They circled around each other, watching the other one closely, the shield raised and the swords ready to strike. Catelyn stabbed out, just to test Keran, and backed off then, and he did the same shortly after. They were waiting, looking for a hole in the others defenses.

Catelyn heard the other recruits whispering behind her, but she blinded it out and focused at her opponent completely, to block an attack the next moment, aiming her knees. The second aimed her sword's arm, and she backed off quickly to evade the strike. After the fourth stroke, she was certain: Keran didn't want to wait any longer. He was dedicated to beat her, to prove his worth.

She awaited him, her shield raised and her sword ready, blocking and evading his attacks, but her shield arm started to hurt from the force his arm had. Clenching her teeth together, she placed her feet while he attacked her further – then her sword stabbed out like a viper, throwing his blade off his hand.

They both breathed heavily.

"Good sword's work. But don't ever forget your feet work. You're not only your arm and your blade, fight with your whole body."

"But it had been a good fight. I almost had you…"

"You're only one step away from becoming a full Templar."

"Not at all, but it's kind of you to say that." Keran sighed. "It could be much worse, though."

She nodded, remembering what happened to him a few years ago. He had been captured by blood mages who tried to transform him into an abomination, like they had done it with Wilmod and, certainly, some of the others. Keran had had more luck. He had been saved in time, by the woman who'd turned out to be Enchantress Hawkes older sister, and returned safely and unpossessed.

At least, he appeared to be his own master. They needed to be certain – demons within the order were too much a risk. That was why he was still a recruit and not a full Templar, despite his skills and his devotion.

She trained the other recruits until it was late afternoon – some of left the drill place with a lot of new black and blue marks and bruises -, then she prepared to leave the Gallows.

This wasn't much the problem. The Templar Order knew very well about the lots of apostate's still hiding in the city, posing as regular citizens, and she was just another volunteer to search for them.

She set foot on the boat which would bring her to city and sat down on a bench, when another Templar placed his bottom next to her. He had his helmet removed, and watched her out of cold, blue eyes.

"You know women should better stay at the chantry and pray and serve the Maker this way, guiding people. Being a Templar is a man's job."

She shot him a side glance. "Why? Because we are too soft or because they threaten your manliness?"

He dared to tell her that, knowing that his own Knight-Commander was a woman? Maybe he did feel inferior compared to her – she noticed his armor was that of a regular Templar, unranked, just one step above a recruit. While she was Knight-Corporal, and thus had enough authority to command the unranked ones – like him…

"I just say that you could achieve much more if you had become a sister of the chantry instead of a Templar", he said, his cold eyes narrowing.

"Maybe I just don't like to sing the chant of light all day long?" she answered with a debonair voice, leaning back and ignoring him for the rest of the boatage.

It felt just too good to evade this idiot finally. Blessedly, he left for Hightown – maybe to pay the Rose a short visit, before he felt able to do his duty… - and she headed the other way, to Darktown.

She didn't wear her helmet this time, but she had it with her – only to be ready. First, she patrolled the side chambers, looking for any other mages, but – unsurprisingly – the Darktown people refused to talk to her and send her away if she dared to ask for apostates. Maybe she should wear something less noticeable next time, and asking _then. _In her full armor, she did not exactly inspire confidence… at least not down here.

At last, she headed to the clinic and entered it through one of its two doors.

Anders wasn't there, but she saw a future patient of his sitting on a cot, waiting for him. It was a boy, aged thirteen or fifteen, who froze upon her sight and watched her warily out of narrowed, brown eyes. Or at least that one eye which wasn't swollen… his whole right side of the face was battered.

She felt the urge to ask him what had happened and if she could help him, but his gaze told her to keep her distance. Thus, she sat just down on another cot and watched him worriedly. Frightening the poor lad was the last thing she wanted.

She did not have to wait for too long. The clinic's door opened – maybe half an hour later – and Anders came in. He frowned, pressing his lips together, when his gaze met her and passed her without a greeting.

_What do you have expected? A warm welcome? _

And she was not here to talk. She was here to watch him, to take here that he did nothing wrong or dangerous, that he did not fall prey to a demon's offering.

Anders stopped before the boy and shook his head. She couldn't see the look on his face, but she could _imagine _it. Even more, when he raised his voice and begun to speak.

"What happened? Paul?"

The boy gave a wince of pain when Anders palpated his battered face and swollen eye. "_He _happened!"

"Your mother didn't do anything against it?" Anders' voice sounded unbelieving, angry and worried at the same time.

"Pah!" The lad hissed in pain, while Anders' started to apply something fluid of the wounds. "My mother only cares for that he wants, not for me. Someday, I'll gut her and her damn lover…"

"Why did you return? This is the… I don't know it anymore, the fourth time or the seventh? He snapped your rips the last time, don't you remember?"

"Where shall I go? Maybe, if that bastard kills me, my dear mother will finally wake up and cut his balls off!"

"Don't be that stupid, boy." Anders sighed, watching the lad closely – at least it appeared that way to Catelyn from where she was standing. "Raise your arms…"

The boy made a face, but did as he was commanded, hissing in pain.

"Just as I expected", Catelyn heard Anders murmuring. He shoved the boy's tunic above his head, even though Paul looked not happy about it. At least, he didn't complain.

The boy's right arm was covered with blue and black mark, as were his side. Catelyn could see some cuts, too, and spots where the skin was bursted and skinned. She hissed slightly, even though she had seen worse injuries before… but this was not the same.

The boy didn't receive them in battle or during training, like had done when she was his age… Again, she knew why she hated Darktown that much and why she had never wanted to return.

The children here grew up too fast. They had to, because their life would be short otherwise…

Anders palpated the lad's arm too and nodded then, as if he had found that he had expected to find.

"You can cure that, yes?" the boy asked.

"Yes, but it will take time to heal without ma-"

"I already know it", Catelyn interrupted him. "No need to hide something before me."

He shot her a short glance, then nodded and started to use his healing magic on the boy's arm.

Catelyn watched him vigilantly. She did not mistrust him – not really – and she could not help herself – she was a little fascinated. Wherever the clean, healing light touched the boy's bruised skin, the black and blue marks and the cuts all vanquished, leaving his side and arm safe and sound.

"Be careful next time." Anders sank his hands and stepped back, while Paul pulled his tunic on. The boy shot the healer a meaningful side glance, one which told of his intentions…

He passed her and she nodded slightly at his direction. The lad's eyes widened and he quickened his steps to leave the clinic faster.

Anders turned around to her, his eyes narrowed. He didn't say a word, passing her at a smart pace and started to mix something together, probably ingredients he had just bought while he had been away. It was obvious that he wanted to ignore her, and equally obvious that he failed. He seemed to be tense and uncomfortable.

Catelyn rolled her eyes, not leaving her place – instead, she started talking to his back.

"This don't need to be unpleasant, Anders."

"How couldn't it be unpleasant? You're a Templar, there's no denying that."

At least he did speak with her.

"I understand that you… have no love for the order, but we're not all the same."

"In which way? That some of you beg us to come with them first, where others just take us and drag us with them, voluntarily or not?" His voice sounded like acid, and she had to fight the urge to not wince.

"If that would be the case, you wouldn't be free now."

"I'm free because you owe me!"

"Not the worst reason, from my point of view. I could have let you go because I have no principles or because you're a blood mage and tricked me into it…"

His movements quickened and hardened, like he was angry and needed to blow off steam.

"I'm still the same, Anders. I remember we were found of another not too long ago. I haven't changed just because I wear a Templar armor now, you know?"

"I spent so much of my life evading you and your kind. Forgive that I'm not full of joy that I've failed so horribly! And you not even have got my phylactery…"

This made her sit up and take notice. "You have one? Does that mean you were at a Circle once?"

"I think so. Of course I tried to obtain it, but I failed… And yes, I was at a Circle. It is a horrible place, and I heard this Circle here is even worse." He sounded hostile, his voice filled with bitterness and disgust.

She sighed. Maybe she should chance the topic, even if she had her doubts that it would also change his mood – and his new attitude towards her.

"Is there… something I can do?" she asked after a while.

"You could leave. That would be nice", he answered without turning his face to her.

She rose. "No need to send me away. I might watch you, but you're still a free man, Anders. I won't arrest you and bring you to the Gallows unless you give me very good reason to."

He turned around, finally, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "Would it help if I beg you to leave? I don't like it to be watched over, and just to know there's a Templar at my back…"

"The mages at the Gallows don't complain about it."

"Yes, because they don't know it any better. I do."

"I provide too much distraction, do I?" She couldn't help but smile at him. "I think I can do something against it."

"Oh, I don't doubt that… I'm interested, what do you have in mind?"

"You'll see." There was still anger in his voice, but also a hint of something else.

She whirled around and prepared to leave. At the door, she turned her face to him – something had appeared in her mind, something she had nearly forgotten.

"I was here the day before yesterday. You were away…"

"What about it? Can't I leave the city without telling you?"

"I can't do my duty when you are gone. Tell me next time, or leave a note at least."

With these words, she turned around and left.

She had already a plan to ease him a little. It would be easier, for him and for her, if he didn't see only the Templar in her. She was more than this.


	10. Chapter 10

Anders didn't see the Templar for the rest of the week. Maybe she had other things to do, or she had decided to finally leave him alone. He wouldn't complain about it. Only to remember how she looked like while wearing that damned armor…

Today, he had his hands work cut out. There had been a collapse in one of the old mines, and many miners were injured – and these were just the lucky ones. He barely found some rest between fixing bones and closing bone deep cuts, and if he found some, he had to pound ingredients or mix potions to ease the pains.

He felt strained until half the day had passed, barely able to concentrate on the healings, but the cries of the wounded didn't allow him any rest. Fortunately, they were the only ones who needed his help today, so he was able to focus completely on them.

Laying his hands on another injured miner's arm, he used his magic to close the deepest wounds and treated the other ones with a salve. Anders noticed his hands shaking when he stepped back and took a deep breath, but it didn't help very much. His mana was almost spent.

He turned to the next patient, a young miner, more boy than man, whose shoulder was utterly slashed. He used his last reserves to close the worst cuts and…

From one moment to another, the room whirled around him. He stumbled, his knees suddenly waxen.

A grip at his shoulder prevented him from falling.

"You need some rest", he heard a voice say, female and familiar.

He was too strained to protest, so he allowed her to bring him to a chair. He sat down and closed his eyes in exhaustion. A warm hand touched his forehead and his cheeks.

"Totally spent. Wait a moment…"

He heard her steps leaving, then her murmur from behind, but he was too spent to do anything, like stopping her from searching his property, or get up and taking care of the other patients who needed healing. The only thing preventing him from falling asleep was the knowledge what he was still needed.

"Where is it…? Where…?" he heard her murmur behind his back, then her steps came nearer.

He heard a faint _plop_, like something was uncorked in front of him, and then something cool and smooth was pressed against his lips.

"Drink that. It will help."

Anders lied back and emptied the phial at one gulp. The fluid was cool and tasted electrifying, refreshing his strained mind almost immediately. He tore his eyes open.

He looked right into a pair of grey eyes, their iris filled with a wisp of light green. Gray greenish eyes in a slightly tanned face, oval shaped and attractive. He wouldn't call her a perfect beauty, but something about her drew his eyes.

She_! _

_Calm down, my friend. She _wouldn't_ have restored my mana if she wanted to detract it and take us with her… _

Right this moment, he couldn't feel any anger for her. She had taken care of him while he was about to collapse. Something, she had not needed to do…

"Thank you."

Catelyn smiled at him. "Not angry at me anymore?"

"I was on the verge of fainting. Thanks to you, I'm not longer." He shrugged. "Not this time, Templar." His eye's run over her and suddenly, he noticed… something else. Something, which relieved him a little more. "You're not wearing that damned armor."

"Yes, just my sword and this…" She grabbed at her cleavage and pulled something off it. It was a pendant, showing the Templar insignia. "I thought, it would ease things if he would look less Templar like to you."

That surprised him. She surprised him. Yes, she was still a Templar, but he hadn't met a Templar before who had willingly done such a thing. Just to make it easier and more comfortable. Who had taken care of the ones was obliged to watch.

Maybe she was right, as for herself at least.

_Don't trust her! She might look nice, but she is still the enemy! Her kind enslaves and oppresses us, and so does she!_

Anders suppressed a moaning. He didn't want to argue with himself – or Justice or both of them – again. His clinic was crowded with injured needing his help, and he had to take care of them first, before he could focus on other things. Like the Templar in front of him.

He got up and passed Catelyn, coming nearer to another miner's cot. It took just a look to see that the man's leg was horrible smashed – bone fragments were jutting out of his mauled flesh.

"Hold on!" he called upon the miner. "I will take care of-"

"I will die, will I?" the man gasped. "The pains… I cannot work at the mines with my leg amputated…"

"I will try to save it, alright? Just hold on…"

He miner nodded, his face distorted with pain.

Anders begun to inspect the wound and suppressed his sign. Thanks to the Lyrium Catelyn had given to him, he felt refreshed again, but this… He doubted he could cure the leg without collapsing again after he had healed it. But maybe, with some help…

"Templar?" He turned his face towards her, waving her nearer. "How familiar are you with first aid?"

"Familiar enough, I think. Do you need some help?"

He nodded. "Can you hold him while I'll try to fix his bones? You're probably stronger than me… and I know more of healing."

"Yes, I guess I could use my muscles for than fighting… Where shall I hold him?"

He showed her, and then concentrated his attention on the miner's leg. Out of the corner off his eye, he could see that Catelyn was already doing like he told her. It was hard work to fix the bones – they were shattered and he had to work carefully, using his magic where it was needed. The miner cried and tried to rebel, but Catelyn was _really _a strong woman. She did her part without a complaint – or big effort.

Once it was done, Anders sighed in relief, bandaging the miner's wound and turning at the next patient. This time, it was a young woman with a broken wrist and a large and bloody abrasion.

"Is there something else I can do?" he heard Catelyn ask behind his back.

"Yes. At my desk – the ointment in the large, blue dish. Would you bring it to me?" he answered while he inquired the girl's wrist, calling to his connection to the Fade and used his healing magic to fix the broken bones then.

Catelyn returned sooner than he had anticipated.

"Is this what you need?" she asked, handing him over a light blue jar.

"Yes, it is! Thank you…" He started to treat the girl's abrasion with the salve.

The next patient was an elder man with a huge cut at his side, which Anders had to stich up. He ordered Catelyn to bring him a bandage, and she did it without questioning.

"You said, you're familiar with first aid. So you can dress his wound, I take it?"

She nodded. "I think so. And if you need me…"

He could help but give her a little smile. At the moment, it didn't matter that she was a Templar. She helped him, and with these many patients, it was more than appreciated.

_As long as you don't forget what she really is. She is only helping because it is easier to her to watch us this way. _

He concentrated his attention on the next patient, a middle-aged woman whose whole side was covered with bruises. After he had examined her closely, he found out that she had some broken rips too and started to heal them first.

"I'm done…" Catelyn's voice, next to him.

"She needs the black vial, on my desk."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Catelyn nodding and approaching his desk. It felt strange how easy it was to work with her. She didn't ask stupid questions, but took his orders quickly and efficiently. What a shame she was a Templar! Help like hers was badly needed down here… and he was always without assistance at his clinic.

"Here!" She gave him the vial he had asked for.

He uncorked the vial and applied some of its content on a clean cloth, to dab the wound.

"That's a decongestant lotion, out of elfroot and distilled alcohol." He didn't know why he was telling her that. Most likely, she didn't care…

With her help, he was able to pace himself, until the last patient was treated and the ones who could still move and walk had left the clinic. He felt still strained and exhausted, but at least he wasn't on the verge of fainting anymore.

He sat down and took a deep breath. Relief was washing through him – the worst was over, finally. Tomorrow, he had to gather new ingredients for his remedies, but today… For today, he was done, and able to relax a little.

His eyes flickered over to Catelyn, and parts of him immediately warned him before her. She was still a Templar; he should not become lax only because she had helped him today! But, on the other hand, without her he would be unconscious and thus not able to help the people he had helped before…

He was far away from being ungrateful.

"Thank you again. For your help."

She smiled, a little tired. "Never mind. It was obvious that it was needed."

"You knew I had Lyrium around."

"You're a mage. Mages use Lyrium." She shrugged.

"An _apostate _mage. Just as well, I could have had nothing."

"Apostates usually buy it underhandedly."

"Like some of your fellow Templars?"

Her eyes narrowed a little. "Maybe. Where is that different from what you're doing? I doubt you bought your Lyrium vials from the chantry."

"Lyrium has no negative side effects on mages, at least not in refined state. You Templars, on the other hand… I've met some of your, suffering from delusions and more, because of the stuff. Is it worth it?"

"You mean, to hunt apostates? It is necessary, to counter magic, yes. To protect your kind."

"That's so sick. They willingly become addicts!" He shook his head. _They? She's a Templar, too! _

"Anyway, I'm glad I could help you out." Catelyn smiled again, changing the topic suddenly. "It was… quite fascinating. You know much of healing, even without use of magic. Where did you learn all of that?"

Well, maybe it wasn't the worst idea to speak about something else. He didn't feel the urge to reproach her, not yet. It was obvious that she didn't want to talk about Lyrium and its side effects – maybe, because she knew them all too well – or about mages and Templars, and he didn't want to think about her like one of them. Not yet. Not while she was wearing a light leather cuirass and looked like a young woman, who could as much be a mercenary or some of the kind. Not after they had worked together so well.

_You're a fool! Armor or not, she stays a Templar! Don't forget about that! She will enchain or even kill you if you become unvigilant! _

Anders pushed the thoughts to the side. His thoughts, or Justice', he didn't want to listen to them right now. He was too strained and Catelyn was not only a Templar. It didn't define her whole character. And since when was he only a mage?

"I had a tutor once, back in the Circle. I believe, to teach me was not an easy thing." He grinned. "I had too much other things in mind. Mainly girls, mischief and escape dreams."

"Dreams that came true, I see."

He nodded, surprised that she didn't sound disapproving. Maybe she _was _different from the other Templars he met… Maybe she was willing to consider other options than the Circle... _She does already. I'm still free! _

"But somehow… they succeeded in teaching me nonetheless." Anders shrugged. "It became quit useful during my escapes and later here, at Darktown. Thy would be utterly surprised to see me now."

"And proud of you, I think. You're helping people."

Was she really saying that? _Maybe she is different. Maybe she understands. _

"Could be… When I arrived here, I had no intention to run a clinic at the sewers. It just so happened, that… But today, it feels like the right thing to do."

"It is. They have plenty of clinics at Hightowns, and the rich have even access to the Circles spirit healers, but the people down here…" She shook her head. "Maybe I'm really too soft. Letting an apostate go because I'm too sympathetic!" She rose and prepared to leave. "Maybe Alrik is right about me…"

_Alrik? _She knew him? The bastard who had made Karl tranquil, against every chantry law? He wanted to stop her and ask her about it, but she had already left.

_Next time. She will return, that much is sure. We will ask her next time. _


End file.
